There Is No Remedy for Memory
by Vespertin
Summary: Just some fluff I wrote in between chapters. Inspired in part by Cosmic Love by Florence   the Machine and primarily by Dark Paradise by Lana del Rey.


The room was completely dark, save for the muted moonlight that filtered in through the thin curtains. It cast wavering, stretched shadows across the bedspread, their fingers reaching out as if to cradle the figure curled tightly on her side beneath the plush blanket. Myka had laid her hands over her ears and her eyes were shut tight, but she was not asleep, just as no one else was awake in the bed and breakfast. She clasped her hands a bit tighter, as if trying to physically silence the thoughts in her mind. Even in spite of her efforts, she found herself once again going through the events of that day, trying to pinpoint just where things had gone so wrong.

Nothing had really gone right that day, per se, but at the very least she had thought things relatively under control. By Warehouse terms, at least. They had defeated the chess lock, and she was alive, and H.G. Wells was whole again. They had a tentative grip on Sykes' plan, and surely they would be able to handle whatever he threw at them, just like they always had been able to do in the three years since she started as an agent for the Warehouse. Even under the circumstances, she hadn't been able to help the relief that flooded her when Helena narrowly escaped destruction by the Janus coin, something she had since decided in hindsight to be powerfully stupid of her. The author had returned, only to slip through her fingers again when she let her guard down and dared to think she could keep her this time.

A sharp stab of sorrow dug itself under her ribs and made it difficult to breathe.

Defeated, she let her hands fall away and uncurled slightly from her position, stiff muscles protesting quietly; she hadn't been aware of how tensed her body had become. Myka stared listlessly at the wall, unsure when, if ever, sleep would come to claim her. Something moved just beyond the periphery of her vision, but the wind had stirred outside her window and sent the shadows in her room twitching, allowing her to write it off without a second thought. Or rather, it would have been that easy had it not shifted once again when everything was still. Instantly Myka froze, hardly daring to draw breath as she strained to make out something, anything, in the darkness of the room at her back. At the back of her mind, she recalled that she had placed her gun in its holster and hung it by the door. This put it out of reach, and she swallowed the dread that rose in the pit of her stomach. Whomever this was, she was to face them alone and unarmed. The seconds turned into minutes as they ticked by sluggishly. She was unsure how long she laid there waiting, but eventually she felt whatever it was had passed and chalked it up to her sleep-deprived brain playing tricks on itself.

Not a minute after she had nestled a bit deeper in her covers and closed her eyes with the intention of sleep did the hairs on the back of her neck rise, and once again she felt as though she was not entirely alone in her bedroom. The impression of the mattress behind her dipping with the pressure of another body set on so slowly and with such slightness that, in her state, Myka almost neglected to notice it. And yet, there it irrefutably was. She only trusted herself to open her eyes to just a sliver, struggling to exert control over her breathing and heartrate as adrenaline coursed through her veins, begging her to rise and throw the intruder off and bolt for her firearm.

She did none of those things.

Instead, she found herself almost paralyzed, her stressed breathing loud in her ears, fighting back the panic that threatened to overtake her. As if borne of the moonlight itself, a slender, milky hand slid over her side and rested at her front, weightless. And then, it did something curious: its fingers unfurled and presented an open palm. Forced to merely watch up until that point, it seemed to Myka that something then unlocked within her and her own hand shifted to lay itself in the invitation as though it were the most natural and effortless thing in the world.

There she found her body knew before her mind had pieced it together, and she whispered reflexively, "Helena."

"Myka."

Her voice was low and the response spoken languidly, as if she herself had only just stirred from almost-rest. Soft though it was, it hit Myka with unparalleled force, knocking the air from her lungs. With a choked sob, tears sprang freely from her eyes, over the bridge of her nose and tracing the curve of her cheek to fall to the pillow beneath her head. Even still she was unable to move, and so she whispered again, fiercely, desperately, "Helena!"

"I'm here, darling. Close your eyes."

As that velvet voice settled over her skin like a caress, the hand at her front curled closed to envelop her own, but where she should feel her weight and her skin and her warmth, Myka felt nothing. The unsettling incongruity of it led her to close her eyes as much as Helena's request. In the moment her lids slid shut, she could finally feel her, not bothering to stifle the gasp that immediately came. There was no mistaking that it was Helena's presence at her back: a faint perfume now teased fleetingly across Myka's nose, and she could feel the body heat as the other woman held her close, her forehead pressed between the agent's shoulder blades. She only managed to keep from giving in to the powerful urge of turning over and seeking the source by reminding herself delicately that there was truly nothing there for her. Still, it all felt so real when she closed her eyes, and Myka found herself unraveling as she always did in the presence of her companion.

"I'm scared, Helena." Her voice sounded foreign to her ears, the way it cracked and lilted, so unsure of itself.

"I know," came the reply, and this time Myka could feel the hot breath on her back. She shivered. "But you're not alone, Myka. I'm not leaving you. Not even now. Not even-"

Helena's voice broke off, leaving it unsaid. She had felt the way the woman in her arms stiffened and bristled at the reminder, and now relaxed again when allowed to forego acknowledging it. Both of them knew. They were not fooling themselves, but they appeared to come to the mutual decision that it need not be voiced. They need not twist the knife.

Silence hung in the air a moment longer before she concluded, "Especially not now."

"I miss you."

The words were achingly sincere, brimming with regret for every kiss they never shared, for every time they shoved their feelings aside for the Warehouse.

"And I, you, darling."

Then they quieted again, content just to be with one another, but also, in truth, because their voices had begun to falter. Myka swallowed the tears that threatened once again and curled her hand closer to her chest, taking Helena's with it. For the moment, she resolved to forget the world, selfish though that may be. She would allow herself this. Tucking her chin to her chest, she pressed her lips to the tips of Helena's fingers and felt her heart finally settle to a steady resting rhythm. In her comforting embrace, Myka's body finally began to give in to the insistent, tugging tide of sleep, but even as she felt herself falling under, she was still keenly aware of every point of contact she held with the woman at her back.

It was there in those final moments teetering on the edge of awareness and dreams that Myka felt the strong and steady beat of another heart in her chest, in sync with her own. The realization was gilded and softened by her current state, a curious point of bemusement rather than the startling jolt it should have been. Helena's voice, thick and distant, was accompanied by the sensation of her hand laid over Myka's chest.

"I will always be here for you. Just close your eyes, darling. I love you."

Her final words echoed in Myka's ears, slow to find meaning, and when they finally did, she found herself unable to will her lips to move and respond. She fought it, trying to struggle against the strange, dead weight of her body, trying to force it to heed her and pull out from slumber. All at once she could move again, and thrash she did, relief flooding her as she blurted, "I love you, Helena."

It was to an empty room.

Groggily, Myka sat up and looked around, her eyes slow to adjust to the daylight now pouring in. Confusion and hurt quickly took the place of stunned surprise, and she didn't bother to even attempt to hold in the anguished cry that tore from her throat. The impression of Helena's touch and warmth clung to her skin like a ghost, teasing her cruelly, and she buried her face in her hands as she tried to ignore it and make it go away. At last her hands fell away, one pausing at her chest, and Myka, shaken, closed her eyes once more. She took in a shuddering breath and mouthed a single word in silent plea: Please.

She did not know and did not care if last night was all in her head; at that moment all that mattered was the singular thud beneath her palm and beside that of her own heart.

Helena. 


End file.
